Down the Rabbit Hole
by lookforreasons
Summary: He felt like he was falling. He was in some eerie, distorted Wonderland, falling down the rabbit hole. Everything he touched and attempted to grab hold of disintegrated through his fingertips, the powder of what was floating above him tauntingly. As he fell steadily he looked up, hoping to see a glint of bright blue sky, only to see something role over and cover it, sealing him in.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: This is a fic I started a long, long time ago. Rachel (endofadream) has inspired me to continue it. I'm not an expert in the field of mental illness, however the following story is based off of true events. The subject matter could make a reader uncomfortable, so if any of the warnings make you think twice, I would suggest not reading. Most of the heavier emotional moments occur in the first few parts. If you choose to continue on and read the story, thank you and enjoy. I would love any feedback (as long as it is not complaining about thing I have warned about)._

**Warnings (some for future parts): Depression, talk of suicide and attempt, self harm, mental illness.**  
This is a Kurt/Blaine story.  
Rated M for Mature content. 

* * *

Kurt slung his bag over his shoulder, rolling his eyes and pushing open the office door.

It was the third week he had been called to Ms. Pillsbury's office during his Wednesday study hall to "check in" as she called it. Kurt preferred to call it a "Weekly waste of time with an unhelpful counselor".

If he had to hear her delicate voice talk about his teachers concerns again or the slip in his GPA, he would probably tear his hair out of his scalp and begin rocking the bald look. Kurt quite frankly found there was nothing wrong with a few sad words strung through a piece of writing, and thought an essay with such a quality should be praised in comparison to the dry, emotionless pieces his peers produced.

But what the hell did Kurt know anymore?

He walked blindly to his locker. He let his forehead hit the cool metal and looked at his shoes.

After a moment of calming himself, he opened his locker, pulling from it two books he didn't ever open for god knows which class. He took a hand to his hair, sweeping it back slightly in the mirror before shutting the locker door again and turning to join the crowds of people moving down the hallway to their next class.

Kurt found himself early for 6th period French, a class he was good at but tended to no longer enjoy.

Come to think of it, what classes did Kurt enjoy these days? Gym sucked, as it had since he was little, and history was just as boring, but math and english had never been unenjoyable in the past. Kurt shrugged it off as the teachers not doing a very good job at the subject.

But music - music was always in Kurt's soul. How had glee club come to bore him? Singing always made him feel incredible. Why was it now blending into the grey background of his life?

Kurt shook it off and sat in his seat, preparing for the french lesson of the day, likely to be full of verb conjugations and tenses.

* * *

The day didn't get much better. A prompt locker slam chased by a blue raspberry slushie left his head spinning. He hid in a bathroom stall until the bell rang and everyone cleared out for class.

He shucked out of his vest and undershirt, running them under the water and watching the blue dye wash down the drain. He scrubbed at the stains with his nails half-heartedly, wringing the clothes out and sighing at the blue that remained.

He caught his own eye in the mirror, the dullness in them now a familiarity. His skin looked pale and washed out, but perhaps it was just the cold blue ice that had just been thrown at him. There was a moment when he didn't recognize himself in the mirror, but he just looked away and turned off the sink. He wrung the vest and shirt out again before pressing the button on the hand dryer.

He threw them back on despite their dampness and shrugged to himself.

The idea of suffering through the rest of his classes made him feel sick, so Kurt opted to skip. After ensuring the halls were clear, he collected his things from his locker and walked out the side door of the building, directly to his car.

He kept the music off the entire ride, staring blankly at the road. Reaching his driveway was practically like releasing a breath.

His head was still throbbing, so he popped some Tylenol after entering the house. They did little but numb the pain, but numbness was something he was used to.

He drowned his night in the nest of blankets in his bed, laying still, staring at the wallpaper, and willing himself out of this funk.

Because that's all this was, right?

* * *

The days began to blur together in an endless blob. Nights passed with tossing and turning. School resulted in being pushed around or having words spit on him like acid.

It's strange how words can break the skin so much easier than a knife. They fester worse than any nasty infection, and even the best medication can't erase them. The mind is a dangerous place, containing the most dangerous weapon: thoughts. If it isn't handled with care, it can put many people in danger.

Thoughts plagued Kurt.

He could make any sunny day out to be rainy. He could turn any happy song into a sad one. His mind was a jail made of glass. He could scream all he liked but no one would hear him He could see out, see hope, but the walls would always block him.

The glass of Kurt's mind was crumbling in upon itself, waiting to shatter.

He remembers being alone when everything falls apart. The house was quiet, which was strange for a Sunday.

Instead of finding the bottle of Tylenol for his perpetual headache, Kurt's eyes wander to the other bottles in the cabinet. Left over medications from his father's heart attack. Pain medication for Carole's bad shoulder. Strong things, only to be taken in moderation.

And he snaps.

A letter, a letter, you need a letter, his mind cries.

He moves quickly, finding a spare piece of his personally stationary in his room. He folds himself up in his desk chair, gripping the pen as tightly as possible before writing.

Kurt wrote steadily, taking in deep breaths. He poured a bit of his soul on the page, letting some tears hit the paper and losing himself in the moment.

He didn't hear Burt come home.

Burt climbed the stairs, planning to simply check on Kurt and head downstairs to settle into the couch for the game.

He didn't expect to find Kurt leaning over his desk, concentrating on writing something and choking back sobs.

Kurt snapped around, his eyes rimmed with red and tear tracks staining his cheeks. His face was flushed from crying, and his mouth felll open slightly.

"What's wrong, Kurt?"

Burt rarely called Kurt by his name, more often referring to him as 'Kiddo' or 'Buddy' out of habit and endearment. The single syllable surprised himself greatly, but he pushed it back to study the scene in front of him.

"Kurt, what's going on?"

Kurt was visibly shaking, handing his head as he released the sobs he had been holding back.

So he did the only thing he could do.

He embraced his son

"Shh, it's going to be okay." Burt whispered. 


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Another chapter, although shorter. Previous warnings still apply. I would love reviews and feedback if you have anything to say. Thank you for reading!_

* * *

Kurt hated hospitals.

The walls were always sickly and brilliantly white. Everything felt sterile and still. Everyone walked around as if they were walking through a graveyard, rather than a place with living, breathing people.

The fact that he was facing a cop through a strangely shaped window didn't help.

It was surreal to sit there in the ugly blue scrubs they had given him, his clothes locked away in a closet to his right. The room was small, smaller than the average bathroom, filled with a couch from a few decades ago and a matching armchair across from it. The door was open letting in the noises of the hospital that flitted down the nearly abandoned hallway of the building.

The police officer did everything he could to avoid Kurt's eye, staring at the floor to the ceiling to the wall beside him.

He couldn't decide what was worse, having the little woman talk to him about his feelings or just being watched by a police officer.

Yet again, speaking to the woman had been like a breath of fresh air after swimming for hours. She had asked a million questions, but answering them honestly was an incredible feeling.

She was a tiny, middle aged brunette with a name he couldn't recall. Her sweater was anything but stylish, although comforting to see. She had a soft spoken tone and open ear, leaning over her own pad of paper to listen to every word that tumbled from his mouth.

Now he stared at the seams of the stiff hospital pants, waiting for her or his Dad to come back before the awkward tension caused by the police officer caused air molecules to combust.

"Kurt?"

He hadn't noticed them reentering the room.

The woman spoke hesitantly, "I've talked to your dad, and I've come to the decision that three to five days in a crisis unit would be the best place for you right now." She surveyed Kurt's reaction and continued," Of course, it's just a recommendation. I think it could really help you out. The staff can aid you in overcoming a lot. If you say yes... I can call a few close by units and you could be there tonight."

The silence was deafening.

"Kurt…" Burt began after a moment.

"I'll go."

The adults stared at him.

"You're sure?" The woman asked, shocked.

Kurt nodded shakily.

"Okay then…" She looked at the clipboard in her hands. "I'll call around to find an open bed and come back as soon as I get some news. They might have to change your room in the meantime. The nursing staff will be around to check on you two."

Burt smiled weakly, "Thank you."

She nodded curtly and turned on her heel.

Kurt looked down at his clasped hands in his lap. After a moment he let out a dry sob. Burt wrapped his arms around his son carefully, holding back his own tears as Kurt sniffled into his shoulder.

* * *

Eventually, a nurse moved them to a spare room down the hall. Kurt sat stiffly on the edge of the lumpy emergency room bed. The curtain was pulled around, blocked the view of the door as an illusion of privacy, although he had overheard the staff telling his father not to leave Kurt by himself.

His eyes avoided the clock and stared blankly through the television.

Brut had pulled a chair to his bedside. After a while, he had began to pace the edge of the room, talking in hushed tones to Carole on the hospital room phone.

Every so often, Kurt would break into silent tears.

Kurt Hummel was afraid. He was afraid of leaving his home. He was afraid of the crisis unit. He was afraid of how he felt, of getting help, of the future.

But mostly, Kurt Hummel was afraid of himself.

The scariest thing someone can face is self hatred. It is a fire that burns someone from the inside out, simultaneously freezing your heart, cutting a hole in your chest. It's an emptiness, but a fullness. Empty of fondness, but full of loathing. It is almost as if you'd do anything, even rip your skin off bit by bit, to be out of your body.

Some small part of his brain told him this was for the best. Getting help was the best. Yet he couldn't help but feel hopeless, as if help… couldn't help.

At some point, the woman whose name Kurt couldn't remember returned, clutching her clipboard to her chest.

" ? Kurt?" She said softly to catch their attention. "We found an adolescent unit for you to stay at, but it is further away than I hoped. It is an hour from here, probably an hour and a half from your house. We'll have an ambulance pick you up as soon as they can…"

"An ambulance?" Kurt shouted. "Why can't I just be driven over?"

"It's part of the hospital policy. Ours and theirs. I know you'd prefer not to arrive by emergency vehicle, but they require it."

Burt crossed his arms. "Are you okay with that Kurt?"

He wrapped his arms around himself shakily. "If it's the only way…"

"Alright," the woman smiled. "I'm not sure how long it will take for an ambulance to get here, but it should be soon enough. You can have your wife meet you at the unit with some of Kurt's things."

"Thank you for helping us," Burt nodded as the woman left the room.

Kurt squeezed his arms more tightly around himself.

"This is really happening."

It was barely more than a whisper. It felt as if the words didn't even come from his own mouth, but some other meek, minuscule entity in the room. Regardless, he let the tears fall down his face as Burt hugged him to his chest once again. His arms felt like the only thing that was real in the world.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Previous warnings apply. Sorry about the time between updates. I am the worst procrastinator when it comes to writing... The set up for the beginning of the story ends with this chapter. We'll meet the residents of the hospitals soon..._

_My heart goes out to the cast of Glee and Cory's loved ones. That last episode was difficult._

* * *

There is a certain embarrassment that comes with having everyone else do things for you.

That exact embarrassment is shown no greater than by being strapped in for an ambulance ride.

They had Kurt get on the stretcher and strapped him in like a child before leaving the hospital. When he was wheeled outside, the night air hit his skin roughly as they lifted him into the back. He hadn't even realized it was that late before.

The driver was a sweet, older man who smiled brightly at him and told cheesy jokes. A short, stout, blond woman sat in the back with Kurt and Burt for the entire drive.

The woman made small talk with them, but Kurt barely responded, staring out the back window and still strapped to the stretcher. He leaned his head back, attempting to hold back his tears.

"I know it's scary, but the people in Dalton will really help you," the paramedic smiled reassuringly.

Kurt felt like he was going to be sick.

* * *

The driveway to the building was long and winding. Kurt saw a sign reading "DALTON" illuminated through the dark shrinking away as they approached the building.

Carole was waiting by the dark entrance when Kurt was unloaded from the ambulance. She embraced him tearily as the paramedics loaded their things up and drove away.

A stern, tired looking woman extended a hand to Burt, who shook it stiffly.

"Welcome to Dalton. We'll go over some paperwork and then I'll take you onto the unit."

The building felt like it was stuck in the 70s with traces of modern flair. The air felt thick around them. Her office was small, right off of the entrance.

She asked questions, but Kurt just stared forward, allowing his father to answer.

Time seemed to stand still. Everything felt surreal and intense, as if it were a vivid dream he would wake up from and soon easily forget.

Burt signed a few forms and signed proofs of insurance. The woman smiled unconvincingly and led them out into the hallways of the hospital.

They did not pass patient rooms or sterile walls. There were no nurses stations. Just hallways, empty, silent, lonely. Occasionally they would pass large doors, but before Kurt could see what was actually beyond the small window, they had moved on.

They approached on of the large doors by itself down one hallway. Kurt read the plaque beside it.

Warbler Unit

The woman fumbled with a set of keys, sliding it into the lock and ushering them inside. If Kurt hadn't been paying attention, he would have walked into the second door a few feet from the first. The second door was unlocked quickly, and the Hummel's were lead inside.

To one side of the room, several couches were spaced around a carpeted area. They appeared to be wooden with blue and green cushions, made of some pleather fabric. The the other side, there was a large counter wrapping around a set of cabinets and a refrigerator.

A young, bald man looked up from behind the counter, smiling at them genuinely.

The woman, who had followed behind them, spoke in a bored tone. "This is Ken. He'll help you settle in." She stalked off out through the double doors without saying goodbye.

A door behind the counter opened, and several other staff members joined Ken.

"Hey," Ken waved brightly, extending a hand. "You must be Kurt. I'll have another counselor meet you in the family room over there in a moment, but for now we just need anything Kurt brought with him to look through."

Carole shrugged a bag off her shoulder and handed it over the counter carefully. They were brought into a room with another nurse.

"Sorry, we've got to be quiet, the kids just went to sleep," she nearly whispered. She was tall and thin, her long blond hair pulled into a ponytail. "We've got some more paperwork for you to fill out Mr. Hummel, but we need to give Kurt a strip search."

Kurt's face fell even further.

"I'm sorry, it's standard procedure. We can pick up your pajamas from Ken on the way."

Kurt stood up and followed her out of the room into a small closet filled with shoes.

"I'm Amanda, by the way. I'm not good with introductions…" She told him. "At night, the kids leave their shoes in here. We used to require no shoe laces, but it was easier this way. We also don't allow belts, laces on pants or sweatshirts, or anything else of that sort. There's a bathroom behind you, so you can strip to your underwear and put this on." She handed him a stiff hospital gown.

Kurt changed slowly, taking time to fold the blue scrubs he was still in from the hospital. He slipped into the gown, realizing how thin it was. Sighing, he pushed the door open to see Amanda sliding on a pair of latex gloves and holding a metal detecting wand.

"Ready?"

Kurt nodded.

"Hold out your arms. It will only take a second."

She turned it on and waved the wand from head to toe, over every part of him.

"Done already," She smiled, handing him a pile of clothes. "You can change now and leave your shoes here. I have to check your clothes and then I'll leave them in your room."

Kurt turned, reentering the small bathroom. She had gotten him his plain white teeshirt and his simplest sweatpants to wear, along with a fresh pair of hospital socks with treads on the bottom. He sighed and pulled them on, stepping out of the bathroom.

Amanda was back at the counter with a large brown paper bag. "You can put that gown in the hamper over there," she whispered, pointing to a large bin. "Then you can go back to your parents."

Kurt dropped the gown into the pile of dirty towels. Upon returning to the door labeled "FAMILY ROOM" where he knew Burt and Carole were, he found the door locked.

The noise of the locked doorknob jiggling caused Amanda to turn and laugh lightly.

"Sorry. Sometimes I forget that you need keys to nearly everywhere here. Usually kids wait for me to unlock it, but I guess you didn't know yet."

"Yeah," Kurt mumbled, watching her select a key from the chain on her belt.

"There you go, kid." She grinned, pushing the door open for him again.

The word 'kid' was beginning to sicken him.

* * *

He sat at the table with Burt and Carole, watching them fill out papers and talk to another nurse for another half hour.

The nurse spoke directly to Kurt then. "We'll go over the rules with you tomorrow; I'm sure you're tired now."

Her smile was comforting like his step-mother's. She was plump with a head of dirty blond hair and bright, soothing eyes. He felt at ease in her presence.

"I'll give you a little while to say goodbye, but your dad can always visit you." She left quietly, taking the papers with her.

"Daddy…"

Kurt crawled into Burt's embrace over his chair. He inhaled the comforting smell of Burt's shirt, causing tears to fall rapidly soak into the fabric. Carole pressed a hand to Kurt's shoulder sympathetically.

"Kurt, it'll be okay. You'll get the help you need," his father rubbed circles on Kurt's back. "Just remember we love you." Carole nodded in agreement squeezing Kurt's shoulder.

They stayed like that for a few more moments before Kurt wiped his eyes and blew his nose in a tissue Carole found in her purse.

"Will you be okay without us?" Carole asked.

Kurt nodded again.

They left the room, Kurt's hands clasped in the adult's hands as if he were a five year old again.

Ken smiled at them from in front of the counter. "I'll let you two out and show Kurt his room."

Burt an Kurt embraced again. "I love you too, Dad," Kurt whispered in his ear.

Carole pressed a kiss to his forehead as Ken unlocked the doors and let them out.

Kurt watched them walk away down the hallway through the small windows. He awkwardly shifted his weight as he stood in the middle of the room.

Ken turned back to him again. "I made up your bed. You have a roommate, but he shouldn't bother you much." He lead Kurt to a room with three twin sized beds, three dressers, and a single sealed window. One bed was turned down, another unmade, and the third filled with a sleeping form. Atop one dresser was a pile of clothes, another, the brown paper bag presumably filled with Kurt's things.

"This will be your bed," Ken pointed out obviously. "Your family brought that blanket for you."

Kurt noticed his favorite blanket he wrapped himself in when he was sad or sick that his mother had made him when he was little.

"Someone will come wake you up in the morning, but for now get some sleep."

"Thank you," Kurt whispered weakly. He crawled into the bed as Ken left the room.

He stared at the dark ceiling for a few minutes, not feeling anything. Eventually his body began to shake with silent sobs. He turned to his side and cried quietly until sleep fell over him.


End file.
